


Draco Malfoy and the choice between what's right and what's easy

by thulkwarrior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Morally Ambiguous Draco Malfoy, Set during the goblet of fire, hes kinda mean but kinda not evil, i only changed small things, idk just read it pls, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thulkwarrior/pseuds/thulkwarrior
Summary: “Don’t boast, Draco.”Like a brick wall, Lucius Malfoy’s dictatorial words brought Draco Malfoy’s frivolous bravado to a humiliating halt. The thud of Lucius’ cane knocked the breath from Draco’s lungs and left the playful taunting in his throat.----------------This is a character study exploring Draco Malfoy during his fourth year at Hogwarts.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Draco Malfoy and the choice between what's right and what's easy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is pretty much canon compliant in terms of content (save for a few small things) but the way I've portrayed Draco in this fic might not necessarily agree completely with canon or your own personal characterisation of him. This is just me trying to find my wings in trying to characterise such a complex character in my own way.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Don’t boast, Draco.”

  
Like a brick wall, Lucius Malfoy’s dictatorial words brought Draco Malfoy’s frivolous bravado to a humiliating halt. The thud of Lucius’ cane knocked the breath from Draco’s lungs and left the playful taunting in his throat.

  
He hadn’t meant to start showing off so ungracefully, he had always been told that the key to undermining your peers was not to crassly exhibit your superiority; but to get under their skin and have them slowly doubt their own worth against your poise and position until all it took was a look for them to cower back into their place.

  
Draco had never been very good at that.

  
Seeing the Weasley’s, and fucking Potter and Granger so joyously carefree and indecently elated caused such a juvenile need to prove himself better than them in the only way he knew how.  
His ivory cheeks flushed a hue of pink as shame began to burn in his stomach for allowing himself to act so childish in front of his father; who was able to cut deep into the self-esteem of those around him with only a well constructed glance.

  
“There’s no need with these people.”

  
Draco nodded and composed himself. His father was right of course, he had nothing to prove to his classmates, he shouldn’t care what they think of him. He wouldn’t. He knew he was significantly greater than them in many aspects, and he didn’t need the approval of a couple of low-lives and a mudblood to know this.

  
Yet as they walked away he itched to turn around and see what they were saying about him.

  
“That always was your biggest weakness, Draco. Your craving for attention.”

  
Suddenly becoming painfully aware of every inch of his skin, every movement of his muscles and every twitch in his face, Draco pushed back his shoulders, lifted his chin and set his face in stone.

  
“Yes, father.”

  
Draco agreed with him, he did crave attention. It was a nasty habit he hadn’t been able to shake just yet. He knew his place, his power, his position. He had many admirers and many more people who feared him, that was good. It was the people who seemed disinterested in him that made him want to scream until there was not a single witch or wizard who didn’t know who he was.

  
Potter and his little gaggle of Gryffindors particularly set off this little adverse reaction. He figured if he couldn’t get Potter’s respect or his fear; he would keep pushing until he hated him so much that just the sound of the name ‘Draco’ had Potter’s blood boiling.

  
Nasty little habit.

  
“Do better, we’re in public.”

  
“Yes father.”

-

The Quidditch match had started and the stadium pulsated with life. Loud music, louder chants, fireworks and light shows, flags, novelty hats, banners, it was all so festive, bursting at the seams with excitement and thrill.

  
Well, outside it was, inside the Ministers box it was rather dull. There was a certain etiquette with those types Draco was learning. Standing up to cheer had earned him a smack on the knee with the snake head of his father’s cane. He was to sit straight and clap politely, just like if he were anywhere else.

  
He was feeling awfully left out of the festivities.

  
But that was a good thing, Draco reasoned. He wasn’t on par with the people here anyway, he was above them all, he was in the Minister's box for heaven's sake. If he felt left out, he was doing the right thing. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

  
Even if it was boring.

  
A particularly loud cry rang in Draco’s ear, and a glance up to find the source told him that Potter and the Weasleys were within his view. He saw them all standing, painted faces; leaning as far over the gate as they could without falling 100 feet onto the turf. They looked thrilled to be there, each one clapping and cheering, huge smiles on each of their rotten faces.

  
There it was again, the burning desire to tell them all that they may be having fun but he was in the Minister’s box, and his suit probably cost more than all their clothes put together, and that Ronald’s hair was dumb, and…

A nudge in his side brought Draco’s attention back to his father seated next to him.

  
“Don’t even give those people a second glance.”

  
Draco settled back in his seat, looking forward with an expressionless face,

  
“Of course father”.

-

Hogwarts was buzzing with an energy Draco hadn’t seen at the school before. A mixture of the visitation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the Tri-Wizard tournament and yet another Potter scandal left the school feeling unsettled yet so lively.

  
Unfortunately, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs didn’t know of the social order at Hogwarts, and the other students had seemed to have forgotten their place. And while Draco felt order needed to be restored to the school, he wasn’t near stupid enough to try and square up to a Durmstrang, no matter how much sawdust filled their skulls.

  
So of course, Draco made the very mature and politically sound move to mass produce “Harry Potter Stinks” badges. Because if there was ever a person he could rely on to brighten his day with his delightful sensitivity to Draco’s bullying, it was Potter. The badges actually sold a lot better than he expected, perhaps he did think too highly of the boy.

  
He could hear his father’s voice in the back of his head, berating him for his attention seeking and crude attack on his enemies. The art of subtlety was something Lucius Malfoy had perfected to climb the social ladder, while Draco still favoured petty pranks and mean jabs wherever he could.

  
His father’s voice was a little easier to ignore when he was in Hogwarts.

-

“I don’t give a damn what your father thinks, Malfoy!”

  
Potter was riled up and heading straight towards Draco. His teasing had stung Potter better than he ever could have hoped, and Draco loved it. He even threw a blow to Draco’s shoulder; which was new and unexpected although not entirely unwelcome. Draco had never been able to break his little resolve with such a mild insult before, although he supposes a life threatening tournament you’re not even supposed to be allowed in will do that to a person.

  
“He’s vile, and cruel. And you’re just pathetic.”

  
Well, Draco can’t really fault him for the truth. His father is vile and cruel, no one; not even Lucius himself would deny that. And Draco was acting pretty pathetic, trying to get his attention fix by poking Potter with a stick until he explodes.

  
Didn’t stop him reaching for his wand though, the fun with Harry wasn’t over yet.

  
Until it was, and he was pulling ferret hair from his teeth for a week.

-

Draco was surprised by how much fun he had at the Yule Ball. He expected it to be much like the many, many galas he had been forced to attend at the manor, although thinking back it was a pretty stupid assumption to make. The Malfoy galas were always filled with rich old people that his parents were always trying to impress. So they mainly consisted of Draco spending the majority of the time plastering a smile on his face as he stood bored out of his mind listening to these people drone on and on.

  
The night of the Yule Ball was already more thrilling than Malfoy galas when Draco got to watch Potter make an utter fool of himself with his laughable skills in dance, throwing that poor Patil girl around like a rag doll.

  
Draco had a significantly more successful dance with the beautiful Beauxbaton girl who he had brought as his date. Well, technically he was her date, since she asked him. Draco had planned to ask Pansy, since they were friends and he refused to show up without a date, but when the Beauxbaton asked him he wasn’t about to say no to such a beautiful girl, Malfoy or not.

  
She had cool, black skin which she had beautifully highlighted silver with a dusting of glitter over her high cheekbones and prominent collarbone to match the shimmering floor-length gown she wore. Twinkling gems and beads twisted through her hair which was pinned back to reveal her intense stare.

  
Admittedly, she left Draco momentarily breathless.

  
She could dance very well, they both could. He had been forced to learn from a young age so he could impress possible suitors as well as business partners and other pureblood families. They gracefully glided across the dance floor into the waltz Professor McGonagall had taught them with ease, brushing past the more awkward couples and weaving collaboratively between the couples that actually could dance.

  
There was plenty of attention on him, as he always preferred; but there was another element to the night, something he didn’t often feel.

  
After the orchestral music had ended and the band began to play, Draco moved to step off the dance floor and maybe stand in the corner looking intimidating for a while, but before he could leave his date grabbed his hand and insisted he dance a little longer. He wasn’t going to do it until she asked him if he was “too chicken to let your hair down once in a while”; he wasn’t one to be so easily manipulated but the girl had a way of challenging him with her eyes; and he was never one to back down from a challenge.

  
It had taken a moment, as casual dancing was definitely not something his dance teacher had taught him, but eventually he allowed his body to move with the music in an unrehearsed yet hopefully graceful manner. It came with ease to the Beauxbaton girl, who’s lithe frame moved with ease, as if she was one with the music.

  
He began to take less and less notice of the people who were staring at him; (as to be expected, he had a beautiful date and he looked rather dashing in the heart-wrenchingly expensive dress robes he wore), but instead focused only on the high he was getting from dancing so freely, so impulsive and sporadic, none of it rehearsed or practiced. It was an odd but addictive feeling, dancing for the fun of it, with no personal gain in mind but to enjoy the music and to feel your partner's energy fuel your own.

  
When the night came to an end, Draco felt an unexpected sadness to realise he had never gotten the girls name, and he’s pretty sure he never gave her his.  
Now that really was unexpected, for just one night, Draco had forgotten he was a Malfoy. And he didn’t feel too awful about it either.

-

The second task of the Tri-Wizard tournament was much more eerie and much less enjoyable than the first task. With the dragons, the audience could see everything unfold, witness everything that happened to the champions and stay on top of the action. With this task they just had to watch them be submerged by the black water of the lake and wait an hour to see if they come back up again. And it was cold. And there were no seats.

  
The other contestants came back up well within the time they were expected to, and Draco teased that of course Potter would be the one dawdling. Ever the Slytherin he mentioned to Crabbe how he hopes Potter doesn’t ever resurface, and that he dies down there.

  
It had begun as his usual snide remark, but as the clock ticked closer to the hour and Weasley and the Delacour girl rose with no Potter in sight his joke started to look more and more like a potential reality.

  
Draco weighed this outcome over in his mind for a short while, before deciding that isn’t really what he wants, despite his bravado. Potter didn’t deserve to die at the bottom of a lake that stunk of squid, and to be honest, Draco couldn’t quite imagine a life without Potter in it for him to wind up.

  
He didn’t need to start coming to terms with this future for long though, as the attention seeking git he is he flew out of the water and splattered onto the deck like a fish out of water.

  
“Bugger, really thought that was the last we would ever see of him” Crabbe muttered next to him.

  
“Yeah” Draco replied, feeling the weight on his chest lighten a little, before pushing down the hat of a slimy, kissarse first year.

-

Draco knew something was wrong as soon as Potter’s body slammed to the ground, with a limp Diggory beneath him.

  
The band played and the crowd cheered, but there was something wrong, seconds had passed and Diggory still didn’t move, and Potter was sprawled desperately over his body.

  
Draco has never seen a dead body before, but he was sure that was what he was looking at as the music suddenly stopped and a scream echoed throughout the stadium.

  
Draco had thought many times what a dead body would look like, often having morbid daydreams about seeing the lifeless bodies of his enemies on the floor at his feet. But he knew now those daydreams had been horribly wrong.

  
He’d always just visualised dead bodies as if they were asleep, eyes closed and lying still. That wasn’t how Cedric looked at all. His eyes were wide open, the soul in them long gone. And he didn’t look like he was sleeping. He looked like a shell that had been left to rot. Draco cursed the nausea that built in his stomach.

  
Potter was snatching himself away from any helping hand that tried helping him up, clinging to Cedric’s body as if his life depended on it - which for all they knew, it had. He was screaming something to Dumbledore, but Draco couldn’t make it out amongst all the commotion.

  
Draco looked at Potter's face, it was so full of anguish, and fear, and defeat. Crumpled in sorrow as he sobbed helplessly into Dumbledore’s hands.

  
Draco wasn’t sure he liked it as much as he always thought he would.

-

“Cedric Diggory was murdered… by Lord Voldemort!”

  
In a way, Draco knew that name was coming. But it didn’t stop how suddenly his blood seemed to run cold.

  
His parents had been acting strange over Christmas. They were easily agitated, snapping at Draco much more frequently than he was used to. They were much more secretive than usual too, Draco often found them whispering to each other, lowering their voices more when Draco walked into a room. His father in particular had been distant, often lost in thought and especially jumpy if Draco accidentally startled him. On one unfortunate occasion Draco got clocked in the jaw by not announcing himself before coming up behind Lucius. Once he realised what he had done, Lucius apologised profusely and then held Draco close to his chest. Draco found this even stranger than the punch in the face. Violent outbursts were not something Lucius frequently had but Draco found them to be higher on the list of ‘Things Lucius Malfoy would do’ than to apologise and then hug his son.

  
He hadn’t known why at the time, and didn’t dare ask; but when he saw Cedric Diggory’s stiff, lifeless body on the pitch, well… Draco was smart enough to piece things together.

  
The mention of the Dark Lord’s name suddenly made the air feel a whole lot heavier. The hall they were in was big but Draco felt no better than if he had been stuffed into a cupboard with no room to breathe.

  
Much like the rest of the Wizarding world, his name was something that was not allowed to be mentioned in the Malfoy house. Draco had said it only once before, out of ignorance when he was about 10 years old. His father became suddenly very angry and his mother had hurried him away to his room. They fought that night, his parents, Draco could hear them from his room. He never understood why, but as he grew, he learned himself that his father was a Deatheater.

  
They never told him, but he wasn’t stupid.

  
And now, the name that left his father violently angry and scared his mother in a way that made her eyes cloud over and her grip to become painfully tight was being spoken in Hogwarts; because he was back, and he had killed someone.

  
Draco wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He was a Slytherin, and he was pureblood. Surely he should be happy he’s back, happy his father doesn’t have to cower away from the name as he grips his always covered forearm.

But, he didn’t feel happy in the slightest. Instead, he felt a suffocating dread push him down, as if willing him to melt into the floor.

  
And honestly, in this moment Draco doesn’t think he’d mind silently melting into the floor, never to be heard of again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome but this is a polite reminder that this is my work, not yours. No I will not edit this fic just to suit your own personal preference in how Draco Malfoy should be portrayed. This is my own personal exploration and if you don't like it you are welcome to read elsewhere or ask for a specific request which I would very happily cater to.  
> If you do enjoy my writing and have a request in mind, please head over to @authorwiththedragontattoo on tumblr where I will now be posting any writing I do in the future, no matter what the fandom is.  
> :)


End file.
